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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Don't you think," he suggested confidently, "that Johann should produce the incriminating document. I think it will turn out to be a certain message to one Henry Jarvis, Broker, William Street, New York." He came forward to stand beside Sobieska at the table, as Johann took out a bulky envelope from a dispatch box and placed it before the Minister. Trusia, too, had drawn near.
The royal pair having departed, the guests arose and, in the order of their precedence, filed into the ballroom in the train of their King. The first figure, patriotically named the "Flag of Krovitch," was danced by Stovik, Trusia and seven other couples all nearly related to royalty, each person waving a small silken flag bearing the Lion of their race.
"I shall rejoin the party at Vienna. You may call me when we arrive. Not before." He turned his back upon the discomfited Josef. Carter, on reentering the car, braced himself to render an acceptable yet plausible excuse for Stovik's absence. The Countess Muhlen-Sarkey was placidly sleeping in the corner. Trusia was sitting with palm-propped chin, gazing straight out of the window.
The group split; the King was adroitly surrounded by Sobieska, Muhlen-Sarkey and Carter, while Trusia and Sutphen advanced to meet and check the too curious Russian. He smiled blandly as he tacitly acknowledged to himself that he had been gracefully repulsed in one direction. Glancing at the baggage of the party, he bent over Trusia's hand with almost real deference.
Sobieska started for the door. Carter lingered, for just then Trusia appeared in the entrance. She seemed a part of the sweet, pure morning. Clad in an informal riding habit, such as he had frequently met in early rides in Central Park, in her starched waist, khaki skirt and broad-brimmed felt, she made a charming picture against the grim doorway.
Her lips for the first time received a kiss from any lover. Then cheek to burning cheek, they passed the crest of a little hill and rode slowly down its thither side. Like an accusation, from some place behind them, rang out the unmistakable clang of sword on sword. They reined in their horses to listen. "Carrick," hazarded Trusia, voicing the premonition paralyzing both.
Still no matter what it is," she said, turning and laying her hand with a trustful little movement upon his arm, "I have your love, my King." With one foot on the flat step of the castle entrance, as she said this Trusia turned to Carter, a world of capitulated love in her eyes. The wicket opened with a more ominous creak than was its wont, it seemed.
"Not two hundred yards away," she replied after a careful backward look. Carter caught sight of a man on deck of the vessel and hailed him with desperately good lungs. The seaman seemed to take one fleeting look at the struggle in the water and then disappeared hastily down a companionway. "How near are they now, Trusia?" gasped Carter. "They have gained only about ten yards."
Trot," and the first of the forlorn hope was started. The troops swung by the little group which held Trusia in its centre. As the head of the scanty column came abreast of where she sat in her saddle, the lieutenant, Casimir, turned on his horse, his voice husky with emotion, to give a command.
He fretted because life could not give him enough of excitement and contest could not give him love. Well, to show him that her resources were boundless, Life gave him all he wanted then took back her gifts." Relapsing into silence again with a heavy sigh, he contemplated the strange warp of destiny. Trusia, his beloved Trusia, where was she?
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